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Summary
“Barnes, right?” Steve slipped his hands into his pockets as he surveyed his new partner. Tall, built, cropped hair, gloves, cock-sure gait. The archetype.
Barnes turned slow and returned the once-over, scanning him from head-to-toe. Steve could see the second it clicked in his mind, that this was his new handler in the flesh. And then, he laughed. An incredulous, long-suffering kind of laugh. Like Steve was just another in a series of practical cosmic jokes played on him by the universe.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
And Steve decided then and there, he hated James Barnes.
